Review | An Evening with MJ Lenderman and Karly Hartzman Inspires Optimism for ‘This Little World’

“What can a poor kid do to keep busy? ‘Cuz I still wanna love this little world.” The answer to this question, which drifted from a deep Johnny Cash–esque voice, was found at the magical MJ Lenderman and Karly Hartzman show at the Ojai Deer Lodge on Saturday night.

While North Carolina natives Hartzman and Lenderman certainly delivered on their signature emotional, raw, and real Southern rock sound, show opener Dan Wriggins of the band Friendship was a secret weapon. Wriggins’s deep and commanding yet humble voice drove us from our cozy table at the Lodge and into the intimate stage area, signaling the start of an entrancing evening.

Wriggins’s songs, which zero in on specific moments, setting scenes with arresting specificity and emotionality, seem to be writing their way into answering his question on “Mr. Chill” about how to love this little planet of ours. On “Dusky,” Wriggins marvels at the way a friend sees the world: “You notice every angle, the way you look at buildings, the way you look at people.”

During both Wriggins’s and Lenderman’s/Hartzman’s sets, this need to observe and chronicle the seemingly quotidian things in life imbues the songs with tenderness. It’s a tenderness that’s a bit rough around the edges in songs like “You Have Bought Yourself a Boat,” in which Lenderman sings to rollicking guitar, “The neighbors are cussing / while throwing shit in the yard / while echoes of the minor leagues / tumble down the road.” But it’s this bare-bones realness that makes them more poignant.

Lenderman’s strong, aching, and deliberate vocals and impassioned guitar playing blend with Hartzman’s sweet yet powerful harmonies and guitar perfectly. Their chemistry is easy, and their detailed tunes about growing up in small-town rural America transported me from Ojai to someone’s North Carolina garage.

Highlights included the Wednesday tune “Quarry,” which paired their pretty vocals with visceral scenes from their neighborhood. For example, Hartzman sings, “The rain-rotted house on the dead end of Baytree, old bitter lady / Sits catty-corner to the aftershock from the quarry / She says ‘America’s a spoiled child that’s ignorant of grief’ / But then she gives out full-sized candy bars on Halloween.” Every discomforting detail feels laden with deeper meaning; perhaps there’s a soft center somewhere.

Other standouts included the heart-bursting/Lenderman-belting “Knockin’” and the group sing-along that emerged on “Tastes Just Like It Costs,” which paints the picture of a relationship’s end outside of an expensive meat store. As the crowd joined Lenderman to chant the embittered refrain “Tastes just like it costs,” communal catharsis reverberated through the lodge.

As I beamed through songs about milkshakes versus smoothies, the jam left in a ramekin, and a breakup outside a bougie butcher shop, I couldn’t help but feel the answer to Wriggins’s question swirling through my bones. By exalting the everyday, we’d found an expanding love for this little world.